Strangers When We Meet
by Dark Rose of Heaven
Summary: Knocked from her horse in battle, Keladry loses almost all memory of who she is. But her friends aren't going to stand by and watch. Unlikely alliances form as Neal, Raoul, and Wyldon come together, determined to bring back the Lady Knight they love.
1. Chapter 1

_This summer I'm working as a housekeeper at a camp I attend with my family, and when I work I like to listen to music. David Bowie makes cleaning out toilets and scrubbing sinks way more bearable! This story sprang from his song "Strangers When We Meet." What would happen, I wondered, if Kel lost all her memories of working for her shield? How would she cope, and, more importantly, how would those who love her help her through it? So, here is yet another short story, told in a series of vignettes from various POVs. Not sure yet if there'll be any official pairings, but I'll let you know! ^_^ For now, enjoy!_

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><p><strong>Strangers When We Meet<strong>

_I._

"Keladry, this is Lord Wyldon. He was the commander at Fort Mastiff for most of the war. He was also our training master when we were pages."

Wyldon met the eyes of the young woman carefully as he bowed over her hand. "Keladry, good evening." They were as bright as ever, glittering hazel, with long lashes that gave her the appearance of a dreamer. But there was something not quite right, and he knew Baird hadn't been exaggerating.

"I'm pleased to see you," she said, somewhat awkwardly. Nealan kept a careful, protective hold on her arm as she rose from a brief curtsey. "I understand you have only just returned from the northern front."

"Yes, that is the case," Wyldon replied, trying not to show the emotion roiling behind his passive mask. _She truly doesn't remember. Not a thing._ "I believe Jonathan is desirous that I remain in Corus to advise him in matters of state."

For a moment, confusion flitted across her face, and then Nealan leaned in and whispered, "Jonathan is the King of Tortall, Kel."

"Oh!" She blushed, far too easily. Keladry of Mindelan was always very careful with her expressions, and this slip told Wyldon just how badly she'd been wounded.

"Would the Lady Knight care for a dance?" Nealan asked, face and voice encouraging as he teased her gently. But she turned her face into his shoulder, and shook her head. "All right, that's okay. Perhaps you've had enough for tonight." He nodded shortly over her head to Wyldon, mouthing _later_, and coaxed Kel out of the ballroom.

Left behind, Wyldon stared into his glass of punch, feeling incredibly empty inside.


	2. Chapter 2

_Putting up a couple chapters right away, since they're short and I have most of it written :). Enjoy! -DR  
><em>

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><p><strong>Strangers When We Meet<strong>

_II._

"It's worse than I thought. She barely remembered the name of our own country!" Agonized, Neal clutched his hair and resisted the urge to bang his head against the wall. Such behavior wasn't fitting for the third most powerful healer in the realm.

Alanna sighed, rubbing her forehead. She, Neal, and Duke Baird had done all they could for Keladry, but even that wasn't enough.

It was Neal that had found her, two months ago, lying on the ground with blood on her face and matting her hair. The Scanran War was nearly over, treaties being signed even as the final skirmishes picked fruitlessly at the Tortallan forts. Kel was out riding on patrol in Merric's place, the red-haired knight having come down with a cold, when they attacked. It had been a fairly quick battle, with only fourteen hastily-cobbled Scanran men, bitterness and desperation in their eyes. Peachblossom was in the stables with a pulled tendon, and Hoshi was no warhorse. Her screams cut the air as one of the Scanrans slashed at her delicate legs, and Kel was thrown against some rocks. A horrible, untimely accident, the fall had taken almost all of her long-term memory with it, and her short-term memory was terribly scrambled for weeks afterward. Neal had kept a constant vigil by her bed, prepared every moment to calm her as she looked around frantically, half-hysterical, not knowing herself or where she was.

"There has to be something more we can do," Wyldon murmured from his corner of the room. "Not Gifted… something therapeutic, something she excels at that her muscles will remember."

"She's not stable enough for heavy weapons work," Duke Baird said tiredly. "Jousting, swordplay, glaive… it's out of the question. She's too fragile, still."

"Then what? She's cooped up in the healing ward with only healers for company – and I mean no offense, Your Grace, Sir Alanna, Sir Nealan… But my daughter is a social creature, whether or not she remembers it. It would do her good to be active." Lady Ilane's words were affirmed when her husband nodded.

"She remembers horseback riding, I know that," the baron rumbled. "She's mentioned her childhood pony a few times."

"Begging your pardon, my lord, but Peachblossom's no pony," Neal said, caught between his aching heart and his healer's sound logic. "She could control him when she was herself, but now?"

"I would like to try," Ilane said firmly. "Surely, were she properly supervised, she could handle short rides."

There was a brief pause, and the three healer-mages traded various looks of worry, despair, and reluctant hope. At last, Duke Baird ventured an opinion. "It would not hurt to try. Perhaps, my lord Wyldon, if you're not busy…"

"I can spare my mornings," Wyldon answered immediately. "Does she still rise early?"

"We think so." Ilane hesitated. "She lays in bed longer than she used to, but there is little to keep her occupied. We're afraid that, left to her own thoughts, she'll work herself into a depression."

"It's decided then," Duke Baird said, taking the initiative. "Wyldon, you will oversee Keladry's morning rides – keep them light, make certain she doesn't tax herself. I'm certain you know what's best. Neal, I believe it would be pertinent for you to attend as well, to measure her strength and the degree of improvement – if there _is_ improvement," he added, almost under his breath.

"There will be." Ilane and Wyldon exchanged embarrassed glances, having spoken at the same time. But to them, and to everyone in the room, there was no alternative. Anything less was too painful to contemplate.


	3. Chapter 3

**Strangers When We Meet**

_III._

Wyldon and Neal watched her with piercing eyes as she approached Peachblossom's stall. The enormous destrier eyed her, seeming to recognize that something fundamental had changed in his mistress. The older knight sent up a silent prayer that the irate horse wouldn't turn on her. Now, more than ever, Keladry needed stability and reliability in her life.

It was Keladry that was bringing the two men together. Although they had never enjoyed one another's company, suddenly they were forced into a fumbling, confused friendship. Neal had taken sole responsibility for her recovery, but it had worn him down. This, finally, whatever "this" was, allowed him to share the burden with his old training master. And, surprisingly, Neal found himself respecting the older man. Wyldon was extremely gentle with his best friend, naming the parts of the saddle and bridle, explaining how to put them on. After slipping the bit in and out of Peachblossom's mouth a few times – to the horse's chagrin – Wyldon had Kel try. Biting his lower lip, Neal watched, riveted, as Kel carefully felt at the sides of Peachblossom's enormous mouth, coaxing those tombstone teeth apart and adjusting the bit with fumbling fingers.

It took almost a quarter of an hour for the entire process to be complete. More than once Wyldon caught him wringing his hands, and Neal finally clamped them down on his belt. He hated to admit it, but he was incredibly nervous. She had almost no idea what she was doing. What if she fell? What if Peachblossom spooked?

"She needs this," Wyldon murmured in his ear as he passed the young knight, reins in hand. "Do you trust me or not?"

Neal finally released his lip, noting with surprise the taste of blood in his mouth. "I do, sir." He stood aside as Wyldon showed her which side of the horse to walk on and how to hold the reins, feeling measurably calmer. If anyone could reteach Kel how to ride, it was Lord Wyldon of Cavall.


	4. Chapter 4

**Strangers When We Meet**

_IV._

Wyldon would have protested in Nealan's inclusion in Kel's riding therapy, but one thing stopped him: Neal was the only person, aside from her family, that she had memories of. It wasn't much, but to a young woman whose entire life history was suddenly wiped blank, it was everything.

They had insured ahead of time that their chosen outdoor ring was free of spectators and other riders. It was a small, round corral far from the hustle and bustle of the stables and the other riding rings, with soft earth that was raked every day to keep it from getting too tamped-down. Kel hardly needed a mounting block, but Wyldon insisted she use it anyway.

"Left foot in the stirrup, hands to either end of the saddle," he instructed, keeping his voice low and calm to hide how painful this was for him. Keladry had been a very good rider when she'd first come to him as a page, though he'd hated to admit it at the time; now, she was reduced to a little girl who could hardly recall trots on a chubby pony as a three-year-old in Tortall. "Use your left foot to lift yourself up, then swing your right leg over the saddle and sit squarely. I'll help you put your right foot in the other stirrup – sometimes it's difficult, for beginners."

He watched Kel's fingers flex as she placed her hands on the saddle, preparing to mount. Then, to his surprise, "I'm not a beginner."

Wyldon blinked. _Could it be…?_

She turned to face him, one foot in the stirrup, the other braced on the mounting block. "I've done this before, I know it. Neal told me."

"Yes, you have done this before," Wyldon agreed carefully, resisting the urge to look over his shoulder to where Nealan sat on the fence. This was his domain, and Kel was going to have to rely on him without the boy interfering. "Clear your mind, Keladry. Deep breaths. Don't think too hard. Your muscles will remember how, even if your mind doesn't."

A swift, bitter laugh. "Clear my mind? There's hardly anything there." However, she obeyed, breathing deeply through her nostrils. Wyldon held Peachblossom's reins steadily, eyeing the temperamental horse.

"_Behave,_" he hissed. The gelding flicked an ear, but remained still.

Then, before he could focus back on Keladry, she was heaving herself up and over the saddle, and had fallen off the other side.

"Kel!" Neal's strangled cry was cut off by a glare from Wyldon.

"Stay there," he ordered, walking briskly to the fallen young woman. Peachblossom danced to one side, confused. What was his mistress doing in the dirt?

"I'm okay," Kel said shakily, sitting up as Wyldon knelt by her side. Her hazel eyes met his, creased with confusion. "He wasn't high enough. I thought he was taller."

_I was right!_ Wyldon crowed inwardly. _Her body does remember_. "It's the mounting block," he explained briskly. "Try mounting from the ground this time. Come, girl, get up! Nothing's broken?" _A little old-fashioned bullying never hurt anyone._

"No sir," she said, full mouth firming in determination as she hauled herself to her feet.

_That's my girl_.

This time, mounting block removed, there were no mishaps. Kel swung herself into the saddle with the ease of a born horsewoman, half-delighted, half-surprised at her own prowess. "I'm doing it!" she called to Neal in delight. "I'm riding!"

It was then that Peachblossom decided he had had enough.


	5. Chapter 5

Not sure how this happened, but I uploaded chapter four again instead of chapter five. My bad! :)

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><p><strong>Strangers When We Meet<strong>

_V._

Kel could hardly believe it. She had no memory of ever mounting Peachblossom in her life – in fact, she couldn't even remember the horse, though he had eyed her familiarly – and yet it had happened so perfectly, so smoothly. Some inner instinct told her to keep her back straight, her knees tight to the horse's sides. She was calling out to Neal, barely even holding the reins, when Peachblossom jerked beneath her, pulling his bridle out of Wyldon's grasp and side-stepping briskly across the court.

For a moment her stomach lurched, and she felt her heart do double-time as panic swamped her. But then she realized that she _hadn't fallen off_. Her fingers were buried in his mane, and she trembled with sick fear, but she was riding. Her knees stayed firm around the gelding's bulk, her back was straight, her heels straining down in the stirrups to keep her balanced. She was _riding_.


	6. Chapter 6

**Strangers When We Meet**

_VI._

The teaching-man was yelling something, but Peachblossom wasn't paying attention. He and that tasty-looking stork-boy were going about this the wrong way. The gelding was no fool, especially after Daine's presence had given him a better understanding of two-leggers and their ways, and he knew something was wrong with his mistress. Her hooves were flimsy and weak, her face furrowed in the concentration of a foal trying to stand for the first time. But she was gaining confidence. Peachblossom could feel her experience, knew her legs around him were as strong as ever. He just had to convince them – and her – that she really _did_ remember.

Side-stepping out of the teaching-man's reach, the destrier lunged into a brisk trot. He was too good at this to let her fall off, but then, so was _she_. Her body adjusted automatically to his change in gait, and he snorted in pleasure when she finally remembered to hold the reins properly.

Abruptly, he stopped, standing absolutely still. She pitched forward slightly, but stayed firm in the saddle. Whinnying his delight, Peachblossom reared a foot or so off the ground, and sprang into a light canter worthy of any Bazhir pure-blood.

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><p><em>I thought writing from Peachblossom's perspective might give it an added interest... maybe? :P Let me know what you think! I'll post more vignette soon :). -DR<br>_


	7. Chapter 7

**Strangers When We Meet**

_VII._

They could hardly believe their eyes. Wyldon had finally given up trying to chase the blasted horse, and he stood at the rail with Neal as their eyes followed Peachblossom and his rider around the ring.

Kel was growing more confident. It was obvious even to Neal that she knew what she was doing – or that her body did, even if her mind was still several paces behind. It was even more obvious that _Peachblossom_ knew what he was doing. The enormous warhorse was bulling around the ring in a gallop, then slowing, then rearing, curveting with the skill of the Bazhir mares called Lipizzaner; and all the while, he refused to let Kel stop and think long enough to realize she had no idea what she was doing.

"He's taking _himself_ through his paces," Wyldon said, awed. "I can't believe it." But it was true. Once Peachblossom was assured that Kel could ride equally well through walk, trot, canter, and gallop, he began to go through the practice movements of a warhorse. Similar to the glaive pattern dances Kel had once done to keep her skills sharp, Peachblossom went through a large, grand, yet somehow graceful dance of kicks, jumps, curvets, and side-steps that a trained warhorse would envy. And through it all, Kel moved as one with her horse, maintaining perfect balance, her seat as sure as though she had never forgotten how to ride.

At last, satisfied, Peachblossom halted in the middle of the ring, neck arched proudly, nobly ignoring the way his sides heaved with exertion. For a moment Kel slumped in the saddle, alarming her companions; but then she gathered herself, and, fumbling a bit as if she was still amazed at her own performance, she gathered the reins and urged him into a brisk walk to where Neal and Wyldon stood at the edge of the ring.

Hazel eyes glittering, back straight, she looked down at them in triumph and asked, "Can we try some jumps now?"


	8. Chapter 8

**Strangers When We Meet**

_VIII. _

Keladry's "lessons" continued through the next few weeks, though they could hardly be called such. Eventually Neal gave up coming, and Wyldon reintroduced Kel and Peachblossom to his great gray warhorse, Cavall's Heart. From horseback, Wyldon took them through their paces every morning, eventually leading them out to the jumping ring, and sometimes even the trails that peppered the Royal Forest.

Everyone was thrilled with Kel's progress. It had been a hard blow for the progressives at Court, whose opponents whispered maliciously that the gods were displeased that a woman had publicly become a knight, and they were taking their retribution. But Kel had a lot of friends, and they were all determined to do their part, in their own way, to speed her recovery.

Lord Raoul of Goldenlake and Malorie's Peak was no exception.

"Wyldon, she's been riding for a month. She's proven she can handle just about anything on horseback. Isn't it time we started… reintroducing… some new things?"

The older knight's expression soured further, if that were possible. "I don't want to rush this. She's been doing excellent, yes. But too much at once could do a lot of damage."

"I spoke to Duke Baird," Raoul said, as if Wyldon hadn't spoken. He braced himself on the other man's desk and leaned forward, making use of all his height and bulk and flashing black eyes. _As if the Stump is even capable of being intimidated._ "He says the spells he and Alanna devised to keep her short-term memory in check have taken, and that her body is absorbing them and adapting to take care of itself. She doesn't forget things anymore. In fact, it's possible that her memory is even better than before."

"This isn't just about her memory, Goldenlake," Wyldon snapped. He could feel his temper fraying, and it took a great deal of control to keep from leaping out of his chair. "She's lost almost her entire _life_. One of the first things she told Neal and her parents was that she hoped the injury wouldn't interfere with her plans to become a knight! Don't you realize? _She doesn't remember anything_."

"I know very well what she does and doesn't remember," Raoul answered shortly. Although normally quite laidback and difficult to irritate, he knew he was very close to breaking something.

"Then why are you pushing for this? She barely has the strength to lift a staff, let alone a glaive or a lance."

"She can do it, Wyldon. She was my squire for four years. That girl can do anything. She's invincible."

Wyldon's calloused palms came down hard on the wood, making a _smack_ that echoed around the room. Standing slowly, he looked Raoul directly in the eyes. "That is where you are wrong. She is _not_ all-powerful, and she is _not_ invincible. Keladry is human, and no amount of wishing is going to change that."

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><p><strong>Hmm, tension... :D What do you think? Is the format ok?<br>**


	9. Chapter 9

**Strangers When We Meet**

_IX._

"I want to try, Mama."

Kel sat demurely in the chair across from her father's desk, hands folded in her skirts. She had lost weight, but somehow retained the core muscle mass she had built up during her training as a knight, and the dress didn't fit quite as well as it could have. Her hair was starting to get longer, too. It had had to be shaved after her accident to allow the healers to operate, and now it was a few inches long, a shaggy, golden-brown cap.

"What does Lord Wyldon say?" Ilane asked gently, taking her daughter's hand. The callouses that had nearly faded were being rebuilt, slowly, with her horseback riding, and they put hope in the Baroness' heart.

Kel made a face. "He's too protective of me. He says he doesn't want to risk a relapse. But Neal seems to think it wouldn't hurt, and I know Sir Alanna agrees."

Baron Piers leaned on the desk, hands steepled over the papers strewn across it. "In the end it's up to you, Keladry. You're making remarkable progress, it's true, but only you can say when you're ready for the next step."

Kel looked down at her hands. "Sometimes I think I'm not making progress at all. I still can't remember the Scanran War at all, or most of my training years."

"But you're starting to recall the Yamani Islands," Ilane reminded her, smiling. "And your short-term memory is almost entirely recovered."

"I know," Kel whispered. She squeezed her mother's hand and stood. "I'm going to the stables. I'll be back in time for supper."

"Lord Wyldon won't be able to be with you – he's in meetings with the King all afternoon," Piers reminded her, a little alarmed at her show of initiative.

"I know, Papa. I'll be careful." Smiling serenely, Kel left the room.


	10. Chapter 10

_Almost done, I think. Thanks for your support, and I hope you continue to enjoy this and my other TP fics! A Marriage of Convenience is finished, as is the one-shot "sequel" Kel Takes a Tumble. THoM continues to progress slowly ;). DR_

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><p><strong>Strangers When We Meet<strong>

_X._

Kel saddled Peachblossom with hands that trembled with excitement. She didn't know why, but something felt momentous about today. Throughout the past month, as she alternated between riding therapy and working with Duke Baird and Neal's healing Gift, she hadn't been able to get one thought out of her mind: that there was something _more_ to riding than what she was already doing. And if Wyldon was unwilling to help her, well, she was just going to have to do it herself.

Leading Peachblossom out of the stables by the reins, she avoided the few people out and about, not wanting to make herself obvious. She knew, despite their discretion, that a lot of people in the palace had been watching her progress, and she didn't want to attract attention now that she was by herself. Something told her that Wyldon wouldn't be very happy with what she was about to do.

She was walking between two empty practice courts when she stopped, struck by four things standing in the middle of the one to her left. They were posts, reminding her of scarecrows, with two arms that looked as if they could pivot on a joint. From the right arms hung wooden shields that swayed in the gentle breeze. From the left arms hung heavy bags, full of something – sand, perhaps? Kel rubbed her forehead, trying to remember.

"Quintains, miss."

She jumped, looking around. A young boy, not much older than eleven or twelve, tugged his brown forelock in salute, smiling hesitantly at her.

"I beg your pardon?" she asked politely. He was dressed like a stable-boy, and the hay sticking from his thick hair told her he probably spent more time with the horses than with people.

"They're quintain dummies, my lady. For tilting." At her confused look, he pointed to the shed in the corner of the ring. "Jousting, my lady, with a lance. Here, let me fetch one."

Mystified, Kel led Peachblossom into the ring and waited as the lad trotted back with a long, shaped length of wood. At one end was a blunted point; at the other, a butt end that seemed to be the handle. At the sight of it, something inside Kel uncurled, sparking, prodding her memory. _I know this, I do! Goddess help me to remember._

"If you'll mount up, my lady?" He nodded to the horse. Kel obeyed without thinking, and looked down again.

"What's your name?" she asked, genuinely curious even as she examined the lance in his hands. She could almost imagine wrapping her hands around the end, tucking it against her side…

"Tobe, milady." He bowed, but not quickly enough to hide the way his smile slipped.

Kel felt terrible, realizing that she must have known this boy at one time, but she stifled it. Neal and Duke Baird had told her repeatedly that she mustn't worry about hurting people's feelings. What had happened wasn't her fault, and she couldn't expect to please everyone be pretending to know who they were. So, ignoring the flash of hurt on his face, she accepted the lance with a smile. "Thank you, Tobe. I'm glad to meet you." She then turned her attention to the lance she held.

Somehow, without really thinking about it, she had done exactly what she had imagined: she gripped the lance in her gloved hand, supporting its fairly light weight against her shoulder as she held it upright. Squinting at the nearest quintain dummy, she shifted in the saddle and held the lance tighter.

_This is so familiar. What is this again? "Tilting." "Jousting." I like it._

Working up her nerve, she squeezed her knees. "Trot." Peachblossom lurched obligingly into an easy trot. The quintain seemed so far away. Kel frowned, settling herself in the saddle. _This isn't fast enough_. "Canter."

Well, that was no good. Peachblossom's canter wasn't the flat kind, where you could barely tell you were moving at all. His was the canter that rolled and pitched like the deck of a ship. Lowering her lance with a combination of awkwardness and skill – _I __**knew**__ I knew how to do this_ – Kel gritted her teeth, trying to focus the lance straight ahead on the wooden shield. "Charge."

The canter flowed into a swift, surging gallop. Although Kel was quite used to his gaits by now, the lance still felt awkward in her grip. And something was wrong with her saddle – it was too low, too flat. It needed something, something to support her…

The lance veered, clipping the shield on the edge. Ready to curse her mistake, Kel's breath was knocked from her body as the sandbag spun, catching her square in the back. Dropping the lance, she pitched forward and to one side, grabbing the reins in a frantic attempt to stop her fall. But Peachblossom didn't like that, and his hindquarters rippled as his gallop became a quick-stepping trot. That was enough. The next thing she knew, she was sprawled face-first on the ground, spitting out the soft dirt and trying to catch her wind.

Gasping, she sat up, brushing off the anxious Tobe.

"I'm fine," she said hoarsely. "Peachblossom! Come back."

Gritting her teeth against the shooting pain that told her a muscle was pulled somewhere in her torso, Kel hefted the lance and mounted again. _I know this. I __**know **__it. I just have to try again._

Peachblossom trotted back to the other end of the ring, facing the same quintain that they had just attempted. Kel knew now what wrong. She didn't have the right kind of saddle. Too much of a whack from the bag, and she probably wouldn't stay on.

"Guess I'll just have to hit that shield right, then, won't I?" she murmured to her horse. He pranced briefly in acknowledgement, and she grinned fiercely. "Charge."

Again, she missed. Again, the sandbag whacked her, though this time she managed to stay on.

"Charge."

This time the lance was cooperating better, and she was able to hit the shield correctly. But as she did so, even with triumph rising inside of her, the lance splintered, sending a roaring numbness up her arm. After a shout of surprise, and much frisking on Peachblossom's part, she gained control of herself.

Wordlessly, Tobe handed her another, and Peachblossom lined himself up for a fourth attempt. But Kel was feeling impatient. Urging her destrier to the next quintain, she narrowed her eyes. This one sported a wooden ring that flitted and danced in the breeze. _That's more like it._

"Charge."

She had the feel of it now. The lance was settled nicely, her body steady in the saddle as Peachblossom barreled towards the dummy. Her eyes seemed to focus of their own accord, zooming in on the small ring that fluttered in the wind. The lance came down. For the first time in months, Kel felt _free_.

She had it. The tip of the lance came back up, and the ring smacked against her hand when it fell. Hardly paying any mind to her slowing horse, Kel stared at the ring. It was pale, made of willow, as light as a feather against her glove. And it had been so effortless to snag it out of the air. _I've definitely done this before._

Slow clapping distracted her, and she turned to see a large, black-haired man leaning against the fence. Her mind leaped for a name, and caught it. This was Lord Raoul of Goldenlake and Malorie's Peak, whom Wyldon had introduced her to last week. Staring at him as she rode across the ring, words appeared in her mind without searching. -_Flyndan. Dom. Third Company. Centaurs. Griffin. Knight-master.-_

"Kel?" He was inside the fence, now, staying a safe distance from Peachblossom's long reach. "Are you all right?"

She nodded absently. "You were my knight-master. When I was a squire." As if the words had confirmed it, more images flashed through her head. -_Mud and muck, dragging an unwilling Peachblossom through the mess. Slashes on her hands, a screech, a flash of gold. A long barrier, a knight at the other end, his coat of arms a black dog with a black sword rearing on a gray field. He holds a lance. So does she.-_

Kel shook her head, rapidly, but it did no good. The images remained unattached and indistinct. "Forgive me, my lord," she said, trying to focus only on him. "I… remember things, sometimes. But not very well."

"Little by little is all that matters," Raoul said kindly. "And yes, I was your knight-master. You rode with the King's Own for four years."

"Third Company!" Kel exclaimed, and blushed. "I'm sorry. I feel so… behind. Like I have twenty years to catch up on."

To her surprise, the giant knight patted her knee gently. "You're doing excellently, Kel." He nodded to the wooden ring still fetched up against her wrist. "That was well done. And it only took you a couple of tries to find your stride. Would you care to try jousting against a person?"

Kel stared at him. "Oh, sir! That would be…" -_Kel! You're jousting against Ansil of Groten?-_ She hesitated. "I'm not certain my lord Wyldon would approve…"

"Oh, Wyldon can stuff it," Raoul said cheerfully, startling her. "There's leather jerkins in here, and practice shields. Just give me a moment to fetch Drum, and I'll be right back." Clapping Peachblossom boldly on the shoulder, he trotted off, leaving Kel's mind swirling.

_-He didn't seem to realize that, with a griffin to care for, he was doing her a favor by doing the things a squire normally did for his knight-master.-_

_-An eagle with the head of a woman. Two enormous, gold-and-brown creatures stretching to the sky. "Kel, it's all right! They're his parents!"-_

_-An explosion of wood, a fierce ache burning in her side. Swaying, a blurred crowd, the horse hot and sweaty beneath her. "Go lie down, Mindelan. You're tilt-silly."-_

Kel gasped and swayed in the saddle. Peachblossom flicked a concerned ear back at her, and she swallowed back a sudden swirl of nausea. She stared at the lance, uncertain how the point had ended up in the dirt. Tobe had gone with Lord Raoul, she realized. Glancing around, she saw a couple of people gathering around the edge of the ring, chatting and trying to hide their curious stares. She blushed fiercely, biting her lip until it bled. -_Stone. Be as stone.-_

Thankfully, the reappearance of Raoul on his enormous gray warhorse seemed to settle her mind. With him he brought a proper tilting saddle, which he helped her to put on Peachblossom. After a brief lecture on what she was to do, they took up their positions. Something pushed at her mind, shoving, trying to get out, but each time she reached for it, it slipped from her grasp. Yet the familiarity of this pulled, hard, making it difficult to breathe.

Lord Raoul pumped his lance up and down, and after a moment, she had the presence of mind to pump hers in return. Peachblossom, still fresh after their four rounds together, danced up into position. Raoul dipped his chin, and Drum broke into a swift, loping canter.

"Charge," Kel whispered, voice trembling. _–"I don't want children. I want to concentrate on my shield."-_ Peachblossom leaped into action. She knew right away something was wrong. She felt dizzy, sick, even. Her destrier leaped and surged under her, souring her belly and setting a pounding rhythm in her head. _–"I know, my lord. You wish I'd been born a boy." "Mithros, no – I just don't joust with him anymore. I have my pride." "Coming along nicely, Mindelan. I wouldn't have let you joust until your third year, but Lord Raoul was right to let you try. Keep your shield higher by an inch or so."-_

Gasping, Kel righted herself just in time to be slammed by a mountain. She could feel herself get popped out of the saddle; her feet left the stirrups, and she flew high. The last thing she knew was a sickening drop and a puff of dust, and then all went dark.


	11. Chapter 11

**Strangers When We Meet**

_XI._

"Dammit, Goldenlake, why did you do it? She's not strong enough for a fall like that."

"You'll have to stop coddling her sometime, _Cavall_. She'll be fine. Baird said it himself."

"What if she _wasn't_ fine, Raoul? What if she were killed? I can't believe you jousted with her…"

"She _wanted_ to, Wyldon! Fine, I regret it, absolutely. She obviously wasn't ready to tilt with me."

"Obviously."

"But she'd just stuck her lance through a willow hoop, on her fourth try, and she clearly had no idea what she was doing. I wanted to see if she still packed the same punch through sheer instinct. I wish now I hadn't hit – it was foolish of me, and I apologize. But can you blame me?"

A pause. "No. No, I cannot. Were I in your place, I cannot honestly say that I would not have done it."

A longer pause. "Thank you."

"For what? Forcing you to acknowledge your weakness for the girl?"

"No. For acknowledging your own."

A pause. "Of course I'm fond of her. She's like one of my own daughters."

Raoul rested his large hand briefly on the other man's shoulder. "I know."


	12. Chapter 12

**Strangers When We Meet**

_XII._

Kel woke to fresh-smelling sheets and late-afternoon sun across her face. She squinted and turned her head, searching for something familiar to latch on to. Lately, she felt as though she had been waking to an empty head more often than not.

In the chair at the side of her bed, Neal was bent forward, head in hands and elbows on knees as he muttered to himself. A surprising tenderness filled her, and she studied him intently. Neal, her best friend, her confidant, her strong right hand. A knight by chance, a healer by innate skill, and always a friend. Her thoughts were a jumble, but through the mess, she sorted one certain truth: she remembered Nealan of Queenscove, from beginning to end.

She stirred, and her lanky friend jerked upright. "Kel! Are you all right? How do you feel? There's some terrific bruising in your skull, I can barely make out any –"

"Neal." She stopped him gently, trying hard not to burst out laughing. "Thank you."

His green eyes creased with puzzlement. "For what?"

"For saying that my friendship was more important to you than a university degree."

There was a pause, and then his mouth dropped open. "Kel – do you…?"

This time she let the smile stretch across her face. "I remember, Neal. I remember everything."

* * *

><p>"Try not to rub it in too much, Raoul," Kel murmured. "He was trying to protect me."<p>

"I can't promise anything, but I'll do my best," the giant-killer replied, scowling like a child whose toy had been taken away. "But no matter what, I insist on taking full credit for your recovery."

Kel burst out laughing. "You most certainly cannot! You simply hurried things along. Wyldon and Neal did most of the grunt work."

Raoul shrugged wide shoulders easily. "Very well, lady knight, have your way. You _are_ the star of this little gathering, after all."

She let her eyes wander over the ballroom packed with guests all in their finery, and sighed. "I wish the King hadn't felt the need to go to all this expense and fuss. I'd prefer something a little more… comfortable."

"Don't play falsely modest, Kel, you know you look quite splendid in your gown," Neal tut-tutted as he came up beside her. "What's this I hear, Goldenlake? Trying to take all the credit for my skillful healing prowess?"

"If I'm not mistaken, Queenscove, you can't claim sole responsibility either," drawled Wyldon, approaching with a glass of punch in one hand. "Trying to claim all the glory for yourself just won't do."

Kel sighed. "Should I go, and let you boys tussle over the 'honor' of restoring my memory, or can you promise to play nicely?"

"Anything for a pretty face," Neal said with a bow, receiving a swat on the head for his trouble.

Wyldon shook his head, the distasteful set of his mouth at odds with the laughter in his eyes. "Always the flatterer, Queenscove. I recall a time when I threatened to tie your tongue in knots – believe me, were it physically possible, I would make a serious attempt."

"You wouldn't know what to do with me if my tongue were in knots, my lord," Neal answered, smirking.

Kel shook her head. "I may have all my memories back, but there's one thing I can't figure out. _How_ did the two of you become friends?"

"We prefer the term 'uneasy truce,'" said Neal, straight-faced.

"Indeed. It prevents unnecessary feelings of warmth and appreciation," Wyldon put in, equally stoic.

Raoul chuckled at the bewilderment on Kel's face, and clapped her on the shoulder. "Don't worry, Mindelan, the rest of the Court is just as confused. Me especially."

"That makes me feel so much better," Kel replied, deadpan, before joining in their laughter and brimming with happiness that she had finally found herself again.

* * *

><p><em>Derp da derp. I feel like I could have gone more in-depth with this, but I wanted to keep it light and short, since THoM is my serious work at the moment. If you haven't read that yet, go forth and do so! :D I'm floundering a bit as I try and connect the place I am now to the place I have written (both on paper and in my head) further along in the story, but it's definitely NOT on hold. Thank you to all my readers and to <strong>HuginnsMuse, Panthergirlt, spazzysassyangel, <strong>and **missgrant** for your kind reviews :). DR_


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